


Fancy

by Werelibrarian



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 14:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16934835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werelibrarian/pseuds/Werelibrarian
Summary: Black tie, said the invitation he held in his hand."Ugh," said Foggy, frisbeeing the card onto a stack of junk mail. "I'm not going. You can't make me."Matt lifted his head from his book. "Bet I can. Where are you going?"





	Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr for user foggy-with-a-chance-of-rage

Matt held Foggy close by the tails of his bow-tie and nibbled his jaw. "Where, Foggy? Bed? Sofa? Right here in the hallway?"

Foggy threw his head back and ground down on Matt's leg. "Kitchen counter," he moaned.

"You're the boss," Matt said, peeling Foggy off the wall and tugging him to the kitchen.

_Before_

Six years after he'd left Hogarth Chao and Benowitz to resurrect Nelson and Murdock, HCB's operations manager Agnieszka (who, if you had asked him yesterday, Foggy would have sworn on a stack of Matt's divine boxer shorts that she hated him with the fire of a thousand suns) sent him an invitation to their year-end party.

Black tie, said the invitation he held in his hand.

"Ugh," said Foggy, frisbeeing the card onto a stack of junk mail. "I'm not going. You can't make me."

Matt lifted his head from his book. "Bet I can. Where are you going?"

"Party at HCB. Ag actually hand-wrote a "would love to see you" in the corner of the invitation."

"Ag? Agnieszka who you said hated you and once pretended there was no such thing as highlighters when you asked for pink ones?"

Foggy flopped sideways on the sofa. "That's her. Absence something something fonder I guess. And it's black tie."

Matt threw one leg then the other over the back of the sofa and stretched out comfortably on top of Foggy. "That might be nice."

Foggy ruffled Matt's hair. "That's because you look absolutely fuckable in a tuxedo. I look like. I don't know. A walrus in a jacket."

"Hey, I don't let people talk about my husband that way." Matt rested his chin on Foggy's chest.

"Oh god, that's why you want to go. You want to pee on me in front of all the six-figure associates."

Matt burst out laughing. "Excuse me?"

"You're being territorial! That's so cute! You know, I never told you this, but your forehead does a thing whenever I mention Rav."

Matt's eyebrows lowered, making him look like a sulky chihuahua. "Why should I care when you mention hot, British, Harvard-educated Ravinder with the great hair who took you ice-skating?"

Foggy smothered a laugh with his hand. "That's settled then. I'll email Ag and say no, and and everyone there will never find out exactly how groin-throbbingly hot a husband I managed to land, and they'll forever remember me as plain old Foggy who probably now lives over his rinky-dink firm with a bunch of cats."

"Huh. Fuck that. We're going." Matt tapped Foggy on the cheek. "Get your tux dry-cleaned." He clambered off Foggy and stalked to the bedroom, before turning back and snapping, "I'll bet Rav has never been in a fist-fight with a ninja!"

"With the number of them that keep popping up in New York, I bet he has," Foggy muttered.

***

Foggy hid a glance at his watch behind a sip of champagne. The party was full of HCB people who either only vaguely remembered him or had joined after he left, and Matt was late.

He'd already said hello to Jeri, who had actually — wonder of wonders — smiled at him. When he'd asked how she was, she went a little crazy around the eyes and muttered something about how spandex costumes seemed to squeeze the common sense right out of some people. Foggy had nodded, deeply sympathetic.

If Foggy knew one thing about swank catered affairs like this, it was how much it took to pull it off, and how to get the waitstaff on his side. "Take me to the really really stressed out lady," he said to one of the kids in the long aprons, and slipped a ten dollar bill under one of the empty glasses on her tray.

Agnieszka had taken over a large corner in the kitchen, surrounded by schedules and menus and diagrams, and barking orders at a platoon of administrative staff. When Foggy put a plate of canapés and a glass of champagne on top of her papers (there was no way she'd get a chance to come out from her command centre to partake in the party), she'd blinked at him, at his offerings, and then said "pink highlighters," like she was trying to remember his name.

"I hear they're a myth," he agreed, clinking his glass to hers. She'd smirked at him, patted his back, and shooed him out of the kitchen. Oh well, Foggy thought, back to standing around like a lump.

"Foggy Nelson," a cultured voice called out.

"Counsellor," Foggy said, sticking out his hand for Rav to shake. Rav clucked, took Foggy's hand and used it to pull him in for a cheek kiss.

"You look smashing in a tux, Foggy, I nearly danced when Ag let it slip you were coming. Finally someone to talk to at these things!"

The entire time Rav spent catching Foggy up on office gossip and the corporate legal maneuverings that put the War of the Roses to shame, Foggy just stared at Rav's perfect head and swooned a little inside. What. Matt was late, he was allowed to look.

"Who's this?" A lawyer, whose whole look screamed "weasel with a $500 haircut", draped his arm around a suddenly-uncomfortable Rav. "Watch out, this one's looking for a green-card wedding," the weasel grinned. Rav's lip curled.

"Scott, I used to have the office across from you," Foggy sighed.

Scott tapped his chin. "Hmm, really? Can't be, because the guy who had the office across from me was a shaggy-haired nerd who probably couldn't find his own prick without someone to lift up his stomach."

Rav flung off Scott's arm and squared up like a British Superman. "I don't care if Hogarth put you on probation again. You don't get to take it out on others." Scott's pale face went crimson when he saw Foggy's eyebrows go up in surprise. Probation, huh? Guess his quality of work took a nosedive when he couldn't take credit for Foggy's.

"It's ok, Rav, let's talk somewhere else." Foggy said, putting a hand on his arm, and Scott's eyes lit up when he saw Foggy's ring.

"Finally settle down like a good little breeder?"

"Okay, so I'm certain I've told you this before, but let's see if it sticks this time. I'm bi, Scott, not straight. But yes, I got married and I accept your completely unspoken good wishes," Foggy snapped.

"Oh my god, congratulations! Are they coming tonight?" Rav said, and for a second Scott was completely forgotten, which made him scowl and look like he wanted to stamp his foot.

"Probably some doughy specimen. She squeeze out a kid for you yet, Nelson? Go all flappy and loose in the downstairs?"

"That is just..so inappropriate," Foggy said, face screwed up in disgust. "You know, I wish I did have a wife you considered ugly, because I would _so_ enjoy watching her deck you for being your uniquely vile self."

"Sure, Nelson," Scott drawled, "I'd be more scared if you threatened to sit on me. Now if you'll get out of my way, I'm going to go score that underwear model."

Rav and Foggy turned.

Sauntering in, tuxedoed as fuck and leaving people of all genders gawping in his wake, was Matt.

"Oh wow," Rav said.

"He's ok," Foggy grunted, even though his heart was going pitter-patter behind his lapels. Minutely, a corner of Matt's mouth lifted. He thanked a server who handed him a flute of champagne and drank it luxuriously, showing off his throat.

Instead of finding Foggy, Matt stood cocky and hip-shot in the centre of the room, waiting. He dimpled when Scott oiled up to him. When he shook hands, Foggy saw he wasn't wearing his wedding ring.

"Guess you heard all that," Foggy said under his breath. "You gonna fight my battles for me?"

Matt laughed and tipped his head at something Scott was smarming, but Foggy knew a yes when he saw it.

"I hope that guy turns out to have standards," Rav grumped and threw back his drink. "You want something a bit harder?"

"No, I think we should stay here for a bit."

"And watch Ferguson pull that gorgeous bloke? You've gotten masochistic in your middle age, pet."

"No no," Foggy said, snagging a glass of wine, "just chill out. I've got a feeling."

Matt was in full flirt mode, smiling invitingly and dipping his chin so that his long eyelashes were on display behind his glasses. He jumped coquettishly when Scott's arm went around his waist, then bit his lip as if he liked it. He didn't protest as Scott's hand went under his jacket for a feel of that magnificent ass. Foggy's fingers tightened on the stem of the wineglass.

"This is going to end badly for us," Rav said. Scott's eyes as they raked over Matt were avaricious.

"Yeah, way less funny now," Foggy muttered, chugging.

Matt pursed his lips, and then stepped neatly out of Scott's arms. "It was nice talking to you, but I'm actually here to meet someone."

"What?" Scott yelped.

"Oh my god," whispered Rav raptly.

"Watch this," Foggy said, and then called, "you're late."

Matt was at his side in an instant, tipping up Foggy's chin and kissing him lushly. For a man who hadn't seen a movie poster since the nineties, he did a decent job of making it a Hollywood kiss. "Sorry, honey, I got tied up. Scott, have you met my husband Foggy?" Matt said, twining their fingers together.

Foggy looked at Scott's incandescently furious expression, then at Matt's angelic smile with the teeth right behind. He had a stinking suspicion his own expression was adoring, and hungry, and vicious, the way that Matt's smirk went a little bit savage when Foggy was holding a courtroom in the palm of his hand. Even though Scott didn't know he was in a fight, Matt was winning. And winning was sexy.

"You. And Nelson." Scott choked out. "I guess that makes sense, you being blind after all."

Matt smiled like a switchblade opening. "Remind me, would you? Are you the Scott Ferguson who bungled the Amersham Properties case? Or are you the Scott Ferguson who got the Harrisville lawsuit thrown out of court?"

"Both," Rav coughed.

Matt and Foggy made synchronized "yikes" noises. Scott's eyes were going bloodshot with anger.

"And what cases are you two arguing? Rental disputes and parking tickets, I bet."

"We do those, yeah. But I also defended Natasha Romanoff," Foggy offered.

Scott's face went white. "That was you?"

Foggy bobbed his head in a “what can you do” sort of way. "That was me."

"The papers never released the counsel's names. They said it was by request of the Secretary-General of the UN," Rav said in hushed tones, as Matt kissed the side of Foggy's head proudly.

"Oh, you know," Foggy waved away Rav's awe, certain that his earnest eyes and humble voice were driving daggers into Scott.

"Actually, we have several superheroes as clients," Matt said.

"So fucking what." Scott gritted out.

"You're right. So fucking what. I have a successful law-firm, a partner I love, good friends like you can't even imagine, and a hole in my kitchen wall that was put there when Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes once to make waffles and was fixed by Steve Roger's own two hands. You ever see Captain America with a smudge of plaster on his cheek? Cutest thing in the world, I swear to god. I should thank you, actually. I didn't think I did, but I realize I do have it all. What have you got? You're a size eight and you work for Hogarth. For now."

Scott screwed up his face and stomped off, knocking over a server's tray in the process. Across the room, Jeri scowled and signalled something to a man in a dark suit and an earwig, who nodded and put his heavy hand on Scott's shoulder.

In the vacuum left by Scott's flounce, Rav offered Matt his hand. "Hullo, I'm Rav. I'd very much like to be your friend."

"He's got his hand out," Foggy said, his tone heavily implying that with one ex-colleague successfully run off, Matt didn't need to dispatch another. In other words: play nice.

Matt took the proffered hand. "Matt Murdock. Foggy tells me you ice-skate."

"Oh, well, yes I do, actua—oh. _Oh_." Rav looked sheepish.

Foggy palmed his face. "For the love of god, Matt, just let it go."

_After_

Matt's head fell back on the counter and knocked over a pepper mill. "Rav's actually pretty cool. Did you know he boxed at St. Andrews?"

Foggy's hand stilled inside Matt's tuxedo pants. "My hand is on your actual dick, sweetheart, could you focus?"

"Sorry," Matt panted, and hummed appreciatively when Foggy started to stroke him slowly. He reached out and twirled his fingers through Foggy's hair. "I love you, you know that, right?"

Foggy nibbled a laugh onto Matt's chest. "I'm not jacking you any faster."

"Aw come on!"

Foggy squeezed and bottled Matt's moan with a kiss. "The way you walked in, all fancy and suave, I forgot there was anyone else in the room," Foggy said, rubbing his thumb over the head of Matt's cock. "You were so fucking hot I got a stomach ache."

"It's nice to be appreciated," Matt sighed, head dropping back. "Fuck," he whined.

"Get your pants off. I'm the one who has to look the dry-cleaning people in the face if you explode."

Matt shoved his hands into his hair and tugged at the strands, shaking his head to clear away the haze before pushing Foggy away. "Wait, wait."

"What?"

Matt lay on the counter like a landed fish for a few more breaths, then grabbed Foggy by the back of the neck and kissed the stuffing out of him. "You, that's what. I love you. You were amazing tonight. Thanks for marrying me. All of it."

Foggy blinked. "Okay."

Matt laughed and tucked himself back into his underwear. Wincing, he zipped up his trousers. "Just okay?"

"I notice you're getting dressed. Are we done having sex?"

Matt buttoned his shirt and deftly re-tied his tie, then shrugged on his jacket. "I thought you liked me all fancy." He shot his cuffs. Foggy's cock twitched.

"I like you every way including that time you were covered in alien animal mucus and we still did it, so _why_ did you put all your clothes back on?" Foggy put his hands on his boxer-clad hips.

Matt straightened his bowtie, winked, and folded to his knees. Before Foggy could say anything, Matt poked his tongue into the slit in Foggy's boxers and licked all the way up to the wet tip before sucking Foggy's cock between his lips.

Foggy slapped a hand over his own mouth and stared at Matt's tousled hair and his wet, red, stretched, mouth. At the tidy black jacket shoulders, the crisp white cuffs studded with Matt's lucky cufflinks, the shiny toe-caps nestled together on the worn kitchen linoleum of the apartment they shared.

"My life is amazing" he groaned, and grinned at the ceiling. "Suck it, Scott."

Matt pulled off with a slurp. "That's not my name."

"I know, sweetheart."


End file.
